Peace of Mind Isn't Cheap

  Walking into the office that morning was like walking into paradise itself; the florescent lights above warmed the face, though the eyes found them a nuisance, of course, anything was better than the frozen hell I had crossed through. Looking around, I saw that I was not the only one who had thought about calling in that day, of course, it would also seem I was about the only one that hadn't. There were five others in the office with me, but as far as i was concerned, the isolated building that had been inundated by snow was desolate of any life, mine being the only exception. Every living entity in that cramped space was nothing more than a waste of air.
    Rachel, the office harlot, was standing next to the water cooler, conversing with Charles. Charles was a hard worker, but had something of a short fuse. Should anyone so much as look at his stapler with the intention of "borrowing" it- as he would say- he would quickly let them know that, should that stapler go missing, so would their spouse, mother, father, and children, if they had any. To be honest, it was somewhat admirable too; god knows I would never turn on someone so ferociously for merely looking at my office supplies. At the moment though, he appeared to be quite content, and I don't think it was the refreshing water he stood next to that stove off his fiery temper. The water cooler stood opposite the entrance, about one hundred feet or so, but the distance didn't spare me the stench of Rachel's cheap perfume. How it managed to ensnare nearly everyone in the office, save for me and a few others, was beyond my understanding.
    Off to the left was Mathers' pathetic excuse for a work space; a tiny cubicle that was more like a trash bin than a work area, wrappers of candy bars draped his desk and empty soda cans spilled out of the small opening and onto the floor of the main walk way. I can't honestly say I had ever seen him without a food item in his hand, save for the five seconds between finishing one bag of chips and pulling out a snickers candy from his pocket. More than that, I don't think he did any real work, the lazy, fat bastard. At least Rachel managed to get some filing done in between romps.In the cubicle adjacent Mathers was Dominick, a relative newcomer that had quickly risen in the ranks. Within a matter of month, he had gone from mere intern, to becoming the Vice-Presidents right hand man. He was always looking for new ways to impress and get ahead; so great was his want for promotion, that he had made enemies with just about everyone in the office. One such enemy was Rodger, the tall, green eyed, middle-aged man that had resided in the same cubicle for nearly twenty years. He talked a lot, but said very little; most of what he said had to do with Dominick and how everything he had attained should have been his, but, through one quirk of fate or another, he had been robbed. Everyone knew he was merely jealous of Dominick, but he would never admit it.
    Walking towards my desk, I saw Rachel depart from the water cooler and head my direction. "Damn it," I muttered under my breath. "Hey there, Sam. What you up to?" I glanced up at her, but quickly had to turn away, her acrimonious scent choking me. "Not much, Rachel. Just trying to get the day over with." The cold didn't remain outside, and Rachel was smart enough to gather as much. Rolling her eyes, she walked away to her own little niche. As I was opening my portfolio, I felt another presence approach me, but did my best to ignore it. It had other plans. "I see your sweet on Rachel there. Word of advice, I saw her first, so if you don't want to have to replace your tires, I suggest you keep away." Great, now I had to worry about dealing with that maniac. Damn slut.
    As i was shuffling through my memos, the pungent smell of nougat and caramel invaded the air around me. It took me a second, but once I figured it out, I had to speak but a few words. "No, Mathers, I don't have a dollar you can borrow. Why don't you go ask Charles?" That was all it took to get rid of him.
    The entrance to the supply closet was next to Rodger's tiny home; a much hated route that had no alternative. Rodger took any opportunity to bad mouth Dominick and would often hold up co-workers for nearly an hour. It was quite amazing just how much of Dominick he could find to hate. I needed pencils, but didn't want to risk getting put behind by Rodger's diatribes, so I opted to just be very careful with my pen.
    Hard as I tried to focus on my work that day, all I could think about was how much I didn't want to be there. Everyone has those days at work where they don't really want to be there, but this sensation was much more than that; it was as if, no matter how cold it was outside, no matter how much snow fell or ice formed, there was a fire within me that grew restless and hungry. A fear within me grew for no apparent reason, and, when looking to the clock for reassurance, all I found was despair; the hands of time were against me. I looked to my desk for some sort of distraction. Shuffling through one of my drawers, my fingers met a pair of scissors. I examined them and saw myself in the blades. They were cold, distant and sharp.
They were beautiful.